C’EST MOI:

I'm an atheist, anarchist writer. Angels, demons, gods and aliens are interchangeable here. I'm self-governed only by freedom of speech, as defined by Amnesty as a human right. I write fiction and non-fiction, under my own name and as a freelance copywriter and ghostwriter. I'm also an alcoholic with chronic depression.
I'm a regular contributor of short fiction to a webzine and I've had over 50 stories published online and in print. I've published two novels, two anthologies and an award-winning children's book. I'm working on other books and I continue to write short stories for a third collection.
The rest is contained within this blog, where I wear my heart on my left hand and tell it as it is, or how I see things.

Previously:

Repetitive Strain Syndrome:

Je Suis Valerie

I am Valerie: I am a Singleton. Single and happy to be freed of the chains that bound me but inclined to start looking around.

When the lights go out, I get turned on. Following an after-hours drinking and smoking session last night, the lights went out on a chapter in my life and I got turned on to a new one.

Since I’ve been living at the pub, things been less than secure to say the least. My tenancy was possibly in doubt because I’d fallen into arrears on the rent, thanks to a battle I was obliged to fight with the council. I’ve covered it before but in a nutshell, I was receiving less in housing benefit than this place costs me in rent. That issue has now been rectified and I’m due to receive sufficient benefit to cover the cost of living here.

Slightly more uncertain though was the continued existence of the pub itself, as a pub. This situation has also been resolved and next week, the landlord of the pub – who is also my landlord – will sign a lease on his business and my home. I have a very close friend in the daughter of the landlady here. Following the signing of the lease, she is being groomed to take over the pub. She doesn’t wish to live here with her partner, their three children and their dog, so last night she reassured me that my place here is safe.

So for the first time in 533 days, I’m secure and have the foundations of the rebuilding of my life. The last 45 days have been great, simply because I’ve had somewhere of my own to live but now I also have security for the longer term. And I live in a pub.

So I truly am settled, ready to move on. The last thing to do was change my relationship status, which has been “In a relationship” on Facebook for the last year or so, as I maintained a farce. The relationship status wasn’t a status symbol; rather, it was a relationship of convenience for others and myself. I have had three relationships in the last 533 days. The first was borne of sympathy but turned out to be one of deceit on the part of that particular partner. The second was a relationship which had to be conducted in secret and the other half of which I was unable to divulge. For the purposes of social media, I wished to proclaim myself unavailable, even though I couldn’t reveal the identity of the girl I was with. The third was a means of protection for the other half of that one, who wished it known that she was in a relationship with me. We had form, I had nothing better to do, so I did it for her.

All of those are gone; the third now safe and with no need of my assistance. But I maintained the pretence that I was in a relationship because I simply didn’t want one. I was in a relationship with myself, battling my demons and trying to get things back on track. I am somewhat relationship dependent but my life was not one to share with a significant other. There were plenty of interested parties but the interest wasn’t reciprocated. I put barriers up.

Now that I have a greater degree of security about how I am in myself and my longevity in the place I’ve chosen to live, I am ready to put myself back on the market. There’s at least one in the wings and I’m not about to start pimping myself around. I’m a sex camel and have done without for a long time but a lot of pent up things are ready for anyone who wants to take me on.

I’m done with short-term fixes and I’m a keeper by nature, so if anyone fancies taking on an alcoholic writer who lives in a bedsit above a pub and who indulges in far too many recreational drugs, I’m available.